


Little Red

by Setcheti



Category: Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale), Pulp Fiction (1994)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Explicit Language, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Character Death, Stealth Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28257423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setcheti/pseuds/Setcheti
Summary: She'd taken to wearing a red hoodie, because it didn't show splatter as much.And because red was her favorite color, but that was beside the point.Also, the irony appealed to her. After all, she was hunting a Wolf.
Relationships: Winston "The Wolf" Wolfe/Raquel (Pulp Fiction)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Little Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [joy_shines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joy_shines/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, joy_shines! You said you liked crossovers, so here's one that the fairytale fit into a little too well. And this Little Red has definitely earned her rep. ;)

Deep in the wilds of the city, Little Red was hunting.

Her prey knew someone was on his track. It amused her to see him glancing around, looking over his shoulder. Prey could feel it when a predator was around, even if they didn't know what to do about it.

Well, other than die, of course. Her prey was going to do that. She was pretty sure he knew it.

Little Red wasn't getting off on that the way some of the city's other predators did. She'd learned the lessons of the Wolf well. Prey was prey. Prey could be a challenge, but it wasn't a source of entertainment. A smart predator only exerted themselves as much as they had to, got the job done, and then moved on. Predators who forgot that soon became prey themselves.

And Little Red had things to do that didn't involve becoming prey.

Like attracting the attention of the Hunter. Hence, today's prey. She knew the Hunter was gunning for this one, so she intended to take him out a lot more messily than usual, put on a bit of a show. 

Luckily the red hoodie she wore when she was 'working out' didn't show blood splatter very much. Little Red usually didn't need to worry about that, she'd honestly picked the hoodie because red was her favorite color and the irony appealed to her, but accidents happened.

Today they'd happen on purpose, but that was all right too. She was going to 'let' the Hunter take credit for this one. And she had more red hoodies at home. A whole box full of masks, too.

Her prey finally did as expected and let himself be cornered, and she didn't lose any time in taking away any advantage he might have had. "Tell Marsellus Wallace that Little Red says hi," she told him, just loud enough to carry to her watcher's ears. "And that I hope he's getting fucked by rednecks in Hell every Wednesday."

The slow clapping started right after the arterial spray erupted from the bulging-eyed man's throat to splatter all over the alley. "So Little Red is tryna horn in on my game, sweet," the watcher said. "Shoulda stayed home, Little Red. This one was _mine_."

Little Red turned to scowl at him, ignoring the gun in his hand, her prey's body dropping to the cracked asphalt like yesterday's trash. "You can have him, but I want something from you in exchange."

She didn't flinch when the gun cocked. "Ain't in no position to be makin' a bargain."

"Drop the shtick," she replied, rolling her eyes. "You're from fucking Pasadena."

His eyes narrowed. "You don't know me."

"I know you're good at offing people who worked for Marsellus Wallace," she told him. "That's the only thing about you I give a good god damn about. You can have your tally mark for this sack of shit," she kicked the fresh corpse, making its arm flop over and splash more blood everywhere, "and in return all I want is for you to let me watch you take out the next one. Because I know I sure as hell can't kill him."

"Who?"

"The Wolf."

He rolled his eyes. "Nobody knows where that cowardly motherfucker is, Little Red--they say he left the fuckin' country after Wallace got killed."

"He did, but he came back. To _my grandmother's house_." She snorted. "Wallace had the bastard kill her, but then the Big Bad Wolf holed up in her house when he came slinking back from wherever. And I can't get close without getting picked off. I already tried it," she explained when the gun made a 'go on' motion. "He'd have had me if he'd dared to come outside like that, the kinky bastard. Guess he's afraid of what the neighbors would say about the dead-old-lady dress-wearing habit he seems to have picked up."

The gun's barrel dropped to point at the ground. "He was wearin..."

"Her blue dress and the white sweater she embroidered flowers on," she confirmed. "And I know it's not because he's running a Social Security scam or something, because I'm the one who filed the paperwork to let them know she was dead. He's probably..." she let her voice trail off, looking down at the ground and using the back of her hand to smear the blood spatter that had hit her cheek above the snarling wolf neck-gaiter she wore to cover her nose and mouth, "...wearing her panties too, and doing God knows what else in there."

It took a minute, but then he stalked forward and pushed her against the wall. The gun came up beside her face, but his other hand grabbed her chin so he could force her to look at him. "This is _my_ kill," he hissed. "You're never sayin' nothin' about this sack of shit or motherfuckin' Pasadena, you got me? You're gonna go home and clean yourself up, and tomorrow afternoon you're gonna meet me at the Hawthorne Grill with grandma's address or the next hunt the Hunter goes on is gonna be for _you_ , got it?"

"As long as I get to watch the bastard die? You got it."

"Fine. Good." He stepped back, well out of knife range, and waved the gun at her again. "Now get the fuck out of here so I can claim my kill in peace. And from now on you remember that the Hunter don't share."

Little Red made tracks out the back of the alley, shucking off her 'uniform' and tucking it all into a ridiculously large Dior bag she'd gotten from a pawn shop before trotting off towards the bus stop. With her little color-coordinated shorts set, cutesy flats and oversized sunglasses, she looked like any other ignorant Valley bitch who'd spent her day slumming it downtown.

It wasn't the first time the downtown cops had given her the once-over as she walked past their cruiser, either. All that training over the last few years since Marsellus Wallace had been killed had given her a great ass and legs to die for, after all. 

The next day, she played the part of a college student trying to study and camped out in a back booth at the old diner, drinking soda and eating fries with cream gravy because diners were good places for indulging that guilty pleasure. The Hunter made her wait almost two hours before sauntering in and pretending to be her boyfriend, demanding a kiss by pulling her hair when he leaned over her. She let him have the kiss for appearance's sake but didn't slide over for him, so he took the seat opposite with a smirk. "So, you find out where the party's gonna be at?"

"Oh yeah, I've got the address in my bag." She gave him a flirty little wink. "It's only about an hour away, wanna go back to your place to waste some time?"

"My junk ain't never gonna be a waste of your time, girl," he insisted, and Little Red saw the waitress roll her eyes in the background. "I'll finish those fries for you while you pack it up."

"Sure thing, boytoy." He could have been. The Hunter wasn't all that old, she'd put him at just barely over the legal age to buy his own beer and probably a solid decade younger than she was. But again, all that training had made her look damned good. She'd trained so hard, getting to where she thought she needed to be to go for the Wolf. It would have made a training montage to put The Bride's in the dust, except if someone had tried to film _her_ in action Little Red would have killed them, so that wouldn't have happened. She'd killed others for less. 

And disposed of them all neatly, too. She'd learned that lesson at her father's knee.

They two of them left the diner and got in the Hunter's car, which was way too nice for someone who was as street as he tried to sound but not nearly nice enough for the gangsters he was trying to game his way into a reputation with. Still, it was good enough to pass in Newport Beach, and once they got there nobody gave the car a second glance. The Hunter circled around the area a bit, apparently getting a feel for the neighborhood, then found a suitably shadowy spot to park in once dusk started to fall and dropped back into his game persona with a black hoodie that shadowed his brown Pasadena features and covered his close-cropped black hair. Little Red had already pulled on a clean red hoodie, and she tucked her own auburn-red hair into the back of her gaiter before pulling the wolf-printed fabric up to cover the lower half of her face. The Hunter shot her a somewhat annoyed look, but didn't say anything. She was pretty sure he just thought she was a lucky amateur who didn't know how to blend.

In truth, she rarely bothered blending, because she knew _hiding_ was better. Three years of hiding, and no one had ever found her yet. Plenty of bodies in her tally during that time, too, but never even a whisper of suspicion had come her way.

Yeah, her father had taught her well. Her father, who had first introduced her to the Wolf and who had then later said he didn't want her to have any more to do with the Wolf. But her father was dead now, and the family business was hers to run as she saw fit. 

The relatively modest white house on the quiet street did look like the sort of place where an old lady with some money might have lived, but the man who was sitting on the nice front porch in an equally nice chair didn't look out of place either. He was wearing a polo shirt and slacks and shoes that said he had more money than the rest of his outfit was showing. The expensive watch on his wrist said the same, and his neat mustache was old-school enough to hint at a vanished breed of mafioso more likely to be seen on the East Coast rather than the West. He was drinking from a wineglass, and the bottle on the little table next to him was a good vintage but one chosen for taste rather than pedigree. And he just raised one silvering eyebrow when the Hunter slid out of the shadows gun-first, Little Red lingering a step behind him. "Ah, company. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"It'll be a pleasure for me, not so much for you, Winston Wolfe," the Hunter said, and if his tone was more than a little dramatic no one would have blamed him—the Wolf was a big-ticket item for someone who was out to make a name for themselves. "I'm The Hunter, and we got business."

"Do tell," the Wolf said, taking another sip of his wine before settling the glass next to the bottle. He sat forward, tapping his fingers together thoughtfully. "You I've heard of, and her I've heard of," he finally said. "And granted, I've been just a bit out of the loop lately, but I don't think anyone's heard that Little Red was working with the Hunter."

"She's not, she just wanted to watch," the Hunter said, and then there was a pop and he fell over because his brains had abruptly parted company with his skull so they could all lay on the manicured lawn together. 

The Wolf blinked, and then raised his eyebrow again at Little Red. Who had already holstered her gun. "I admit to being confused."

"He was a threat," Little Red said. "He'd made a hobby of taking out everyone from Wallace's old network, it was a game to him." Her blue eyes narrowed with vicious amusement. "I got him on your track with me 'tagging along' by telling him Wallace had you kill my grandmother and then you took her house--and that you'd been seen wearing her clothes, too."

"Cute, but insulting—I've never killed anyone's grandmother, much less appropriated one's wardrobe for my own use afterward."

A shrug. "He believed it. He was a good tracker, but he wasn't all that smart otherwise."

"I'm not surprised. Pasadena isn't the best place to get the sort of education he needed for his 'game' to go long." He settled back in the chair. "So who am I to you, since you went to all this trouble to track me down and give me a thoughtful but messy present?"

"You're the man who killed Marsellus Wallace," was her answer, and Winston Wolfe was visibly startled for the first time in a very long time. "I know you had a reason."

"I did, but you haven't answered my question." He made an elegant 'continue' gesture with one hand. "Ladies first."

He could tell she'd smiled under the wolf's mouth on the gaiter, and then she pulled it down off her face. "Always the gentleman."

It took him a minute—well, thirty-two seconds, to be precise—but he recognized her. " _Racquel?_ "

"And Little Red. Ever since Wallace's death, I've been training," she explained. "Your turn."

"Of course. Yes, I had a reason. Marsellus had gotten hold of an object he shouldn't have had—honestly, no one should have had it—and it was doing unpleasant things to him. So when he called me in for a consultation and I saw the extent of the problem, I solved it."

She nodded. "I thought it was something like that. The object?"

"Sent back to the fires of Hell where it belongs. That won't permanently destroy it, I don't think," he admitted. "But hopefully it won't resurface again for a few generations. At the very least, no one currently alive can retrieve it."

She smirked. "Do we need to blow up some extinct volcanoes in Iceland to make sure of that?"

That made him laugh. "It probably wouldn't hurt. Just in case some intrepid Scotsman gets a bright idea and starts hunting for lost worlds." He stood up, slowly, and just as slowly made his way down off the porch to approach her, not quite stalking, not quite sauntering. "Was that you volunteering to help me?"

She didn't back away. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"That's not the reason."

"No." Two steps brought her right up to him, literally nose to nose, but still the kiss took him by surprise. "Maybe once in a girl's life, she meets a man who can make her feel like the only woman in the world—even though she knows she's not. Age is just a number. I wanted to feel like that again, Winston Wolfe."

He raised a hand, the backs of his fingers just barely grazing her cheek. "And then what?"

She smirked. It was the one she'd picked up from him. "And then we've got work to do. Volcanoes to dynamite. Messes to clean up. Idiots to kill."

And the Wolf put his arms around her. "It's a whole new world with Marsellus gone, Little Red. And as far as this old Wolf is concerned, you're now the only woman in it."


End file.
